Human variety guarantees that no work of art can speak to every human being, and for this reason, I have no quarrel with anyone who engages honestly with something that I love, but cannot share my enthusiasm. As my brother would say, we are all wired differently.
What does anger me is ironic disengagement: the refusal to meet any work of art halfway. I disagree with anyone who comes to a story, a poem, a film, a piece of music, with a preconceived notion that this work does not deserve any full attention, that it can be picked apart from moment to moment without consideration of historical or aesthetic context, that it deserves to be mocked or dismissed right from the start.
I see nothing wrong with individual taste and thoughtful criticism; I see no reason to complain when a person likes This and This and This about something, but really hates That. I despise, instead, the trendy Youtube illness that never gives art the time and opportunity to do its work.
At the very least, we should pay attention for a while, to see what can be found.
No comments:
Post a Comment